


Deal with the Devil

by sellertape



Category: Supernatural
Genre: SRS 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:13:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sellertape/pseuds/sellertape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for SRS Bonus Round 1 (Historical) - Michael is a the captain of a famous ship, known for travelling to foreign lands and bringing back exotic beauties. When his ship is attacked in southern waters and boarded by pirates, it's the Devil, a feared pirate lord, who will be claiming foreign treasures this time. Steampunk/Air pirates is a huge bonus (I tried ssh)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deal with the Devil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CrossroadProphet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrossroadProphet/gifts).



> Dew is sometimes somewhere accredited to meaning God. Dewson, Son of God, I don't know, I couldn't think of a plausible surname.  
> Also the cabin boy is unnamed but totally Samandriel ^^;  
> Unbeta'd, may come back to it in the morning. When did 2am happen?

One of the crew was sniffing.

  
Michael had been staring down one of the men on guard duty, almost hoping to irritate him, daring him to come closer. But the guard was bored, sulking at being left from the pillaging they could all hear happening above them, and didn’t focus on any one of them for long. Michael turned away and scanned his men. He located the sniffer with relative ease; a powder monkey who had left his mother at the port that week. Michael hadn’t had time to learn his name. How would he address the letter of condolence?

  
Yes Michael, the voice in his head – usually uncannily like Gabriel’s – sniped. How will you compose a letter after you’re dead? He glanced down to Gabriel himself, slumped against the bars beside his feet. His face was bloody, a bruise beginning to form across a cheekbone. When he caught his captain’s eye he tried to grin, but it quickly turned into a wince. Michael knew he couldn’t look any better, but smiled back, feeling the half dried blood on his cheek cracking.

  
The smile was gone as soon as the flustered pirate all but fell down the stairs, crashing into a chair and making the guards jolt awake. Michael straightened slightly and watched as the man – boy, he couldn’t be much older than the crying swab at the back of the cell – picked himself up to face his comrades.

  
“He wants to know wh-why the cap’n wasn’t already in his cabin fuh-for after the looting. He’s to come right now.” Michael didn’t move, and almost as though they were taking his lead, none of his crew so much as shifted. Even the kid had stopped sobbing quietly.

  
“ _You’re_ supposed to take him there?” The young pirate danced nervously from foot to foot, cowering.

  
“He said the cap’n won’t try anything. Said he knows better.”

  
“He’s right,” called Michael from where he leant, forearms resting on the bars he was on the wrong side of.

  
“Shut it,” one of the men snapped, but couldn’t seem to think of another option than groping for the iron key at his belt. Michael slowly stepped over Gabriel’s legs to reach the cell door, and his friend caught his ankle. When he looked down, Michael saw there was no trace of the old smile left. Gabriel’s eyes were burning, a dangerous mix of affection and... fear. Before today, in happier circumstances, both he and Michael had been known to drunkenly boast that Gabriel was unfamiliar with the sensation of fear. He was always ready with a quip or a joke. He was the quarter master. He calmed the crew. He was never scared.

  
He gently pulled himself free and walked out of the cell, only to be caught roughly by the shoulder and spun around. He felt the course rope around his wrists and actually rolled his eyes. It was almost insulting they thought he’d be stupid enough to try and fight all of them alone when his whole crew...

  
When his whole crew hadn’t even gotten as far as the cell he was looking into.

  
His eyes found the boy at the back of the cell, the one with tear tracks in the blood splatters, and stayed there. He had big eyes, and they grew bigger when they realised the captain was watching him. Keep those pretty eyes down kid, Michael wanted to say. These’re not sweet like the girls at port but they’ll like a face like yours just as much. But he couldn’t say anything, so he tried to think what Gabriel would do. The Gabriel who wasn’t scared, bloody and broken just three feet away. He winked.

  
At that moment he was pulled away and he ascended the stairs with the single hope that the boy thought, for even a moment, that his captain had a plan. They were all going to die, he didn’t feel bad for lying.

  
It was a short walk from the prison to his own cabin, but it was lined almost constantly by pirates, spitting, laughing, leering pirates. Michael was almost glad when it ended. Almost. But then he was pressed to his knees on his own rug and the door was slammed, blocking any laughter but also any escape.

  
He raised his head. His room had been gutted of anything of value, which hadn’t been much, though he was both amused and insulted to find his bookcase untouched.

  
“Yes, they’ve left your books.”

  
The voice made him twist, almost losing his balance, to finally meet the man who had brought his world crashing to the ground (a statement that had all too much chance of becoming literal; a word from this man and Michael’s Righteous would fall right out of the sky). The man was sitting in the round window, a shocking sunset glaring past his lithe frame. One leg had hung lazily towards the ground, with the other drawn up, almost to the speaker’s chest, but as he spoke the pirate kicked off from the wall and advanced towards him.

  
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed. My crew are adequate for so many things, but discussions on literature is not one of them. How would they know the most valuable things on board are still in this cabin?”

  
His voice was smooth, languid, almost musical. It was a voice that convinced children to leave their mother and dance into a river. As he approached, it was one of the things Michael couldn’t help noticing. Another was his boots, so keenly polished they glared.

  
“Many are mere sentiment,” he managed to cough around what was perhaps a broken rib. “In fact just one would be considered valuable, I think.” The shiny boots stopped and the man turned to survey the shelves. His face was still blotted out by the glaring red sun streaming into the room.

  
“Quite,” the voice purred. “You don’t find an almanac such as yours on every airship in the sky.”

  
“You would know.” There was a soft laugh. The rope was cutting into Michael’s wrists but almost out of pride he refused to fight them. Instead he spoke. “So there’s really only one thing of value in this cabin.”

  
“Oh no, Captain Dewson, no.” The man hunkered down, and suddenly Michael was face to face with him. His face suited his voice, though Michael couldn’t explain why, except perhaps it had a serene quality that held a constant underlying threat. Right now it was smiling, sharp teeth and too-kind eyes. “You should have more pride in yourself. You underestimate your own value.”

  
There was a hand on his neck then, and Michael fought down a shudder. His glare had been known to make men melt into denial of their own existence, but the pirate didn’t flinch. A thumb ran across his Adam’s apple and found his pulse, pressing slightly.

  
“You know my name.” It was all Michael could think to say.

“Yes.”

  
“And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?” The smile cracked again and the pirate shook his head.

  
“I have never told a soul in the skies my name. They christened me instead, one I find overly dramatic but I must admit it does the job. I’m known, I believe, as The Devil.” He laughed softly as Michael’s breath caught. “You know me. I’m flattered. Oh, and feel that, your heart’s beating much faster now. I’d almost thought it dead.”

  
It soon will be, Michael’s mind hissed traitorously. It was no longer Gabriel’s voice, but the dulcet hiss of the pirate facing him. His first instinct was to recoil, but the Devil’s grip tightened and he was thrown onto his back, head smashing against the ground. They said he’d been impractical when he carpeted his living quarters. On a good day Michael may have had something witty to say, but all he could manage right now was ‘well fuck them’.

  
He felt a weight press him further down and then the man was straddling him, head tilted slightly as he passively observed Michael choking.

  
“The question, then, Captain Dewson, is how best to realise your worth. Many a man in these skies would pay to see you on his floor.” There were dark shapes blotting out the corners of Michael’s vision, making the Devil’s face swim as Michael fought hard not to pass out. “I hear there’s even a couple of warrants from some far-flung cities. Now back then I bet you really were something to see. Do your crew know you have some rogue years under your belt?” It was the belt he reached for now, folding a finger under it and swiping across Michael’s midriff with a nail. Michael pressed himself away, further down, crushing his hands which were still bound behind him. The Devil considered him a moment longer, then took both hands away.

  
Air seemed to trip in its readiness to course back into his lungs and Michael was gasping, the black spots in his eyes replaced by stinging water. As he hacked and coughed the Devil watched, and Michael caught a glimpse of an almost fond smile. He swung himself off the other man, easily freeing Michael’s legs and sat with his own crossed, waiting for Michael’s breath to return to normal.

  
“It’s that part I’m interested in,” he elaborated, as though they were having an amiable chat over ale. “Your past, of course, not your belt. Although…” he shrugged. “I digress.”

  
Michael had managed to get onto his knees and was watching him warily, still panting slightly, though the topic of conversation was threatening to steal any breath he’d managed to get back.

  
“How do you know so much?”

  
The Devil shrugged. “I make it my business to know anyone interesting I may come across.”

  
Michael blinked. “This wasn’t some random raid, then.”

  
“I’m afraid not. You couldn’t have avoided this. You couldn’t have saved your crew. You condemned them simply by being on board. My men might have been the ones killing them but I think we both know…” his eyes found Michael’s again. “…their deaths are on you.”

  
Faces flashed before him, Inias, Joshua, the young boy. Gabriel. Suddenly Michael snarled, wrenching at his wrists and he threw himself forwards. The rope didn’t give, but he didn’t need his hands. The Devil had no time to react; a knee found his ribs and Michael’s teeth sank into his left ear. There was a bellow and Michael found himself thrown off. It wasn’t a contest, not really. He received a punch to the face for his efforts and rolled with it, landing in a crouch several feet away.  
The Devil had pulled himself up to mirror him and had a steadying hand against the foot of Michael’s bed, the other to the side of his face. It shouldn’t have surprised Michael that the madman was laughing.

  
“There’s the man I wanted to meet,” he grinned. Michael spat his blood onto the carpet, tense, ready for another attack. It didn’t come. The Devil sank back against the wood, still chuckling.

  
“So,” he murmured, suddenly down to business. “How about it?”

  
“Excuse me?”

  
“Board my ship. Leave, with the rest of the treasures we’ve picked up. Come with me.”

  
Michael almost laughed himself. “How tempting. But I can’t think of a single reason why I would set foot on-”

  
“Can’t you Michael?” The Devil’s eyes gleamed and Michael realised too late that had been a challenge. “Can’t you really? Not one? Your crew are as good as dead, you don’t have to join them.”

  
“And what kind of captain would I be if I left my men to die?”

  
The Devil shrugged. “It’s nothing you haven’t done before.” Michael froze. Nobody knew that, nobody could possibly… The Devil waved a hand. “Ah don’t worry about it, I understand. Shall we call it a deal with the Devil, then? You come with me, I leave those men not already dead and dying here.”

“Not good enough,” Michael hissed. “Fuel and provisions. And I want to see them.”

  
“I can work with that.”

“Shall we shake on it?” The Devil grinned.

  
“I’ll take your word. You’ll have plenty of time to try and kill me on my ship. Pick him up,” he spoke over Michael’s shoulder and he turned to see two pirates at the open door, no doubt drawn by the shouts. “We’re leaving.”

  
Michael was wrenched to his feet and shoved out the door ahead of the Devil, who brought up the rear pausing only to pick up the almanac.

“Bring the crew on deck,” he called to his men. “The Captain will want to say good bye.”

They made a sorry sight. While he was gone they had each had their hands bound and several men were being propped up by their fellows. Gabriel stood at the forefront, his protective air almost a visible force before the pirates. Not that an air would do much good. It was his eye Michael held the longest, but before he could open his mouth the Devil spoke.

“I’m afraid you won’t be seeing your fearless leader again,” he called cheerfully. “It’s not his fault, he’s a bad habit of abandoning those in need.” Michael watched Gabriel’s frown and it was all he could do not to turn away. But this might be the last time he saw any of his men again.

“He has requested several conditions to his departure, all of which I am happy to accommodate. He wanted to see you again, which is now done. He wanted provisions left for you.” Three pirates each threw a sack of rations at Gabriel’s feet. The quarter master’s eyes narrowed and Michael found himself praying to anyone who may be listening that his friend kept his head. The Devil began to back away, and there was suddenly a knife in his hand that seconds before had been empty. Michael had long ditched the habit of keeping a blade in his shirtsleeve, and cursed himself for not noticing it earlier. “Yours, I believe,” the Devil muttered to Michael as he passed. He was right. Their weapons had been the first thing stolen.

“The last thing your captain asked, quite rightly, was that we leave you with enough fuel to see you to port. He did, unfortunately, fail to specify the placement of such fuel.” There was a flash of silver as he lashed out and a rope snapped. As one, the crew of the Righteous looked up, perhaps the worst possible thing they could do, as three tanks of engine oil cascaded onto them.

Michael roared and lunged forwards, but four sets of hands grabbed him, one across his mouth. They were pulling him backwards, towards the bridge, off the ship. His ship. His Righteous.

He strove to bite again but the hand was gone and he yelled. He didn’t know what. Names, perhaps, names of his crew, names to call the Devil. His voice was drowned in the men’s screaming, screaming as the fuel burned their eyes, screaming as the fire of a smashed lamp coursed towards them. All the while he was being swept away in the mass exodus of pirates.

Then he was across the bridge, thrown onto the unfamiliar deck and the ship began to drift away. The Devil was next to him, hunkering down and hacking the ropes around his wrists.

“You can have this back,” he said when he’d finished, sliding the knife into Michael’s belt. “I’m sure you’d feel better with it.”

Michael said nothing, didn’t want to give him the humour of violence now. He scrambled to his feet and gripped the rail.

The sun had almost disappeared, but its glow had been replaced by the inferno that had been his home for the last three years. Dark shapes still moved on deck, but there was no hope. He knew it, and some of them did too. Small burning figures pelted towards the ground, intent on a quick death, on beating the Righteous back to earth. He didn’t move, even as his ship shrank to resemble a low-hanging star, then a firefly, an ember. Gone.

A hand fell on his shoulder and it was him. Of course it was him.

“Welcome to Hell, Captain.”


End file.
